


He Said, He Said

by zaphodsgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Animal Death, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Monster of the Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-29 00:30:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20073172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaphodsgirl/pseuds/zaphodsgirl
Summary: Sam gets a lead on a case somewhere he's sure Dean is going to love, but as they investigate some other things are uncovered instead.





	He Said, He Said

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Busy (BusySquirrel)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BusySquirrel/gifts).
  * Inspired by [DeanCas Reverse Bang - Art Masterpost](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19305949) by [Busy (BusySquirrel)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BusySquirrel/pseuds/Busy). 

> In the absence of the original claimant for [this piece](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19305949) of art, the work was solo posted to the Reverse Bang collection.  
I decided to surprise Busy with a story for it after all. Please follow the link to love on the art and see the original story prompt. 
> 
> Busy: I'm sorry I forgot the tequila.

Dean is well into his second cup of coffee on an idle Tuesday morning when Sam wanders into the kitchen, laptop balanced on the palm of one large hand. 

"There you are."

"Was I missing?" Sam gives him a look of exasperation, and Dean puts one hand out in an equally frustrated gesture. "What? I've been sitting in the same spot for the last hour, you act like I've been hiding from you." 

Sam ignores this last comment, choosing to sit across the table and turn his laptop around to face Dean. "I think I have something that's right up your alley."

Dean blinks at the screen, trying to glean pertinent information from the article there. "A string of livestock deaths out in the desert? Not sure I follow."

"Come on. Tumbleweeds in the wild, wild west? It'll give you an excuse to wear your cowboy hat. Besides, look at the location." 

"Is that..." 

"Exactly. The deaths have all been at farms just outside the Bitter Lake National Wildlife Refuge, so authorities have written them off as wild animal attacks. Locals are convinced it's something more though. I'm sure you can imagine, considering the location."

Dean has an excited gleam in his eye as he starts looking at the other tabs Sam has open. "I wish Ketch was here, man."

"What? Why?"

"Because I love making him say 'chupacabra', it makes me laugh every time."

Sam laughs lowly, going to make a cup of coffee for himself. "I thought Jack and Cas could come along with us. It'll be good experience for Jack, and you'll need Cas."

"Why?" Dean asks idly, sipping from his coffee with one hand while navigating through the tabs with the other. 

"Because you're not dragging me to any of that corny shit, and Cas will do whatever you want." 

It's Sam's own fault, really, that his laptop gets sprayed with liquid, but that doesn't stop him from giving Dean a death glare and leaving him to choke on his coffee. 

*******

"I don't understand," Cas says, turning the object over and over in his hands again. "What, exactly, is the purpose of this again?" 

"So you can look the part, obviously," Dean says, knowing full well that he has other reasons that are not so obvious, but just can't bring himself to say out loud. "You've always been terrible at blending in, you know." 

Cas places the beige cowboy hat on his head with a sigh, turning to look out the window. "I know." 

Dean reaches over to give him a reassuring pat on the thigh, fighting the urge to give it a squeeze. "That's why you have me."

Cas mumbles something under his breath that Dean doesn't catch, then points out the window. "That should be it, up on the right."

Sure enough, there's a gap in the timber fence they've been moving parallel to, and Dean turns the Impala onto the drive leading to a fairly large house with several outbuildings visible beyond it. Dean doesn't say anything else as he navigates slowly towards the house, wincing at the numerous bumps along the unpaved road that aren't doing his suspension any favors. He sees several cars parked off to the side of the house and pulls in beside the closest one, kicking up a cloud of dust all around them despite their slow pace, and he waits a moment for it to settle before getting out of the car with Cas following his lead. Cas is in his usual attire and Dean in his favorite FBI suit, with cowboy boots and a bolo tie swapped in, and he adjusts the hat on his own head before they amble slowly up to the house, affecting an unhurried air.

They trot up the half a dozen steps and onto the porch, where Dean knocks loudly on the weathered frame of a screen door while peering into the house beyond, moving back once he notices movement deeper inside. It takes a few minutes before a woman with a kind, weathered face appears at the door, drying her hands on a patterned towel edged in white fringe. 

"Can I help you boys?" She has a reedy voice, and the white hair pulled into a high bun atop her head gives her a much-needed extra three inches of height. Dean stoops a little to address her through the screen.

"Afternoon, ma'am. I'm Agent Hatfield, this is Agent Medley." Cas nods solemnly, and the woman glances at him with a soft smile. "We're investigating some reports of wild animal attacks in the area?"

The woman is nodding before Dean's even done speaking, lifting the metal hook that's keeping the door from blowing in the wind more than preventing entry by strangers, and pushing it open to beckon them inside. "Martha Patterson, but I 'spect you know that. I've just made a fresh batch of lemonade, come on in to the kitchen so we can talk out of the dust."

It's marginally cooler in the dark interior, dark wooden blinds drawn against the sun in every room. Dean gratefully accepts a glass of liquid sunshine, the ice clinking against the sides as he takes a seat at the worn wooden table off to one side. Cas accepts a glass as well, and Dean raises an eyebrow.

"It would be rude not to accept," Cas whispers lowly as he sits beside Dean, sipping carefully at the liquid before placing it on the table in front of him. 

"So, I imagine you boys are from the state game office," Martha says as she sits across from them, tossing the towel over her shoulder and leaning on her crossed arms. "What can I help you with?"

"I understand the first of the attacks was on your land?" It takes everything Dean has not to smirk when Cas takes a small notepad out of the inside pocket of his jacket like a gumshoe in an old movie. "Did you notice anything odd just before, or since that time?"

"I don't know about just before, nothing really comes to mind. 'Course sheep have been real skittish since it happened, and we've been trying to keep an eye on 'em through the night. It's difficult, though, with just me and Harold and our boy."

"Did you find both sheep in the same place?"

"Close enough. Both looked like they'd been dragged out of the paddock a couple dozen feet before they were taken apart by whatever it was. I can have Davey take you out there with the truck.” 

“That your husband?”

“Our boy."

They follow her through another battered screen door in the kitchen and out onto a small deck, where she places a hand to her forehead to shield her eyes. 

"Davey!" She screeches with more weight than Dean would have expected from her, and even Cas is grinning beside him, especially when a man in his forties and twice her size comes trotting from behind the barn. 

Dean opts to follow in the Impala, even though he's not thrilled to drive along the hardscrabble dirt roads that wind through the farm, and after about twenty minutes the battered Ford Ranger they've been following slows and pulls off to the side. Davey points out the paddock that the sheep were taken from, then the general direction where they found the bodies. 

"Have you seen anything strange since the attacks, or even before?" Cas asks him, following up on the questions Dean has already asked Martha. "Strange weather, animal tracks you don't recognize?" 

"Well, the sheep spook easy now, for sure, but I don't know that they were doing it before. Can't say I blame them really. We lost another sheep last week, and nobody's seen Tom for days either, though he has been known to wander off from time to time, the damned fool." 

"Tom?" Dean asks, and Davey nods.

"Yep. Some of the neighbors have been joking about it being some weird demon animal attacking things in the night, but there's those of us that really know what's going on."

"Is that so?" Dean admires the level timbre of Cas's voice as he says that, without a trace of sarcasm in it. 

"Sure. Let me get you something from the truck."

Cas looks out over the scrubland, peering into the distance towards the Pecos River and the wildlife refuge it runs through. Dean watches him surreptitiously, appreciating how well the cowboy hat and the trenchcoat actually go together. It's fairly cool for a spring day, but Dean is still feeling the weight of the sun between his shoulder blades, persistent and strong. He finds himself wondering how many layers Cas actually has on, if maybe he can tempt him to peel one or two of them off...

He shakes himself out of his reverie, walking away from them both to clear his head. Davey comes back and hands a piece of paper to Cas, who looks at it without so much as twitching a lip. 

"I see. This explains everything."

*******

Cas follows Dean out into the scrubland as Davey's truck pulls away in a cloud of dust, searching the scattered brush and looking for signs of something on the hard-packed earth. They're only about ten feet apart, scanning the area, when Dean pulls up short. 

"Hey, I found something!" He stands with his hands on his hips, observing the gruesome scene as Cas comes up behind him. 

"Looks like another attacked animal, but Davey said they weren't missing any other sheep as of this morning." He shades his eyes, peering into the distance, scanning each direction. "Do you think it got dragged here from another farm? It’s gotta be quite a ways to the next place."

"That's not a sheep, Dean. That's Tom."

"What?" 

"Davey said he had a habit of wandering off."

"I thought Tom was a person."

"No," Cas says, forced patience clear as a bell in his voice. "Tom is a goat." He looks at the poor animal with its throat ripped out, lying at the base of a tree that offers no shade. "_Was _a goat." 

"Poor Tom," Dean says, squatting down to take a closer look, putting his arm up to cover his nostrils. "He's been out here in the sun for a while, I can tell you that much. Doesn't look like anything out of the ordinary, honestly. What do you think?" He stands up as Cas comes closer, arms crossed as he peers down at the corpse of the little white goat. 

"It looks like your standard animal attack. Isn't there a wildlife refuge near here?"

"Yeah, we can probably do a search and see what kind of predator animals are in the area. Come on, there are two other farms where animals were killed, we'll go talk to those folks and then head into town." He turns to Cas, still standing with his arms crossed, and notices the flyer he's holding in one hand with a giant picture on it. "Is that what Davey gave you?"

"Oh yes, he cracked the case for us," Cas says in that sardonic way he has, holding out the piece of paper for Dean to take. "Aliens are behind it all, apparently."

Sure enough, the center of the flyer is a giant green alien head, surrounded by different text blurbs that purport to be facts. Dean reads them in amusement before getting to the copy at the bottom of the page.

"Shit, we better get a move on," he says, walking rapidly towards the car. "Come on!"

"What? What's the rush?" Cas barely has the door of the Impala closed before Dean is reversing back out onto the road. "I don't understand, is it something about the flyer?"

"Yeah, man," Dean says, twisting the wheel as he gets them pointed in the right direction. "It says that UFO museum closes at five, so we've got to get those other interviews done if we want to get there today!"

"I don't think I've ever seen you so excited at the prospect of research before, certainly not about a museum."

"But it's a _UFO _museum, Cas! Don't you know where we are?"

"New Mexico?"

"_Roswell_, New Mexico! Home of Area 51!"

"Dean, I can assure you that aliens are not..."

"Nope." Dean leans over to clap his free hand over Cas's mouth. "Don't you dare ruin this for me with logic and facts. I can believe in aliens if I want to, and I want to. So you will go along and let me enjoy this, right?"

He can feel the hot air across the top of his hand as Cas lets out an annoyed breath through his nostrils, and then feels him nod.

"Good," he says, taking his hand back. The tips of his fingers tingle from the stubble of Cas's jaw, and he curls them into his palm in a loose fist, trying not to think about it. "Call Sam and see if they're making any progress with the Fish and Game warden."

He can see Cas nod in his peripheral vision, taking out his phone and putting it on speaker to call Sam. Dean keeps one hand on the wheel as he listens to the conversation, continually rubbing his thumb across the pads of his fingers on the other, thinking about things he shouldn't.

*******

Unfortunately for Dean, by the time they finish their last interview it's far too late in the day to go to the museum, and he tries not to pout on the drive back to town.

"Maybe we'll have time to go tomorrow," Cas says, not fooled for a minute. "I think you'll feel better once you've eaten something. I told Sam to meet us at a place I'm sure you'll like."

"You're just using food to appease me."

"Not just food."

"What do you mean?" Cas doesn't say anything else except to direct him where to turn, and when they finally reach their destination Dean can’t help but grin.

"Really?"

Cas keeps his face perfectly stoic, but Dean can see the twinkle in his eye. "Well, I know the thing that always makes you feel better is pie." He points to the sign that says _Homestyle Cookin', Homemade Pies _right under the name. "And the cowboy theme certainly couldn't hurt." 

"If this place has good food on top of everything else we might never leave."

They find Sam and Jack already waiting, and as Dean slides into the booth across from them his brother glares at him. 

"Really, Dean?"

"What? Cas picked the place out, man, I just followed the directions." Dean is too busy looking around the room like a kid on Christmas day, so he doesn't see the knowing look Sam sends in the angel’s direction.

Cas clears his throat and picks up the menu, opening it up to hide his face. "So what did the two of you find out?"

By the time they finish their food -- and even Sam can't restrain a smile at Dean's glee about having the top of his burger branded with a cowboy boot -- it seems obvious to all of them that this is just a normal case, nothing paranormal, supernatural, or otherwise. 

"A lot of the people we talked to used the word chupacabra, but from the descriptions they gave it's just as likely a wolf afflicted with mange. I'm just not getting the sense that it's like the real thing, even though we've only taken them down a few times. The warden thinks it's most likely a bobcat that's gone beyond its normal territory. They do allow you to hunt those around here, but it's not the season for it right now."

"So nobody can really do anything except wait it out?"

"Seems like." 

"Those poor animals," Jack says, looking mournfully at the table. "Isn't there anything we can do?"

"I'm afraid not," Cas says. "One of the things you'll learn about being a hunter is that you can't always help everybody. Some things are out of our scope, and others are beyond our power."

Sam pats the boy on the shoulder, and Jack gives him a small smile in return.

"So are we heading home tonight?"

"I guess we can, there's nothing more to do here."

"Well, now, just wait a second," Dean says, finally contributing to the conversation with a mouth full of pecan pie and ice cream. "It was a ten-hour drive, we shouldn't just pack it in and go home after a single day. I'm beat after driving all night to get here."

"Uh-huh," Sam says knowingly, and Dean rolls his eyes. 

"I'm just saying we stay one night, check out some more leads tomorrow, and then we can head home."

"Right. What other leads do you want to look at?"

"Well, we got some info from this guy Davey that we didn't have time to follow up on today..." Dean trails off at the look he gets from Cas. "What? We really should look into everything, after all the time it took for us to get here."

Cas sighs, then looks at Sam. "Dean's right. Maybe you could talk to some more locals tomorrow while he and I investigate this...lead."

*******

They find a decent enough motel on the outskirts of town that still has two rooms available, but both of them are singles. Sam shrugs, unconcerned by this piece of news. 

"Cas doesn't sleep and Jack rarely does, so we'll just each take one," Sam says as he plucks one of the large plastic triangles out of Dean's fist, proclaiming his room of choice as 207. "Jack can bunk with me, since we have to figure out our plan of attack tomorrow anyway." He walks off with his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and Jack follows him dutifully, turning to wave at Dean and Cas before they trot up the outside stairs to access the second floor rooms. 

"Well, okay then," Dean mumbles, flipping the key fob over. "Looks like we're in 112." 

He grabs his own duffel from the trunk and follows Cas, who's already zeroed in on the correct room and is standing patiently outside the door. Dean tosses him the key, and the door is unlocked and left open for him by the time he reaches it. He drops his duffel on the full size bed, shutting the door with one booted foot, but Cas doesn't even glance up from where he's already surfing through the available channels on the TV. 

"I'm gonna take a shower." Cas doesn't do more than nod, though he gives Dean a sideways glance as he struggles to remove his cowboy boots before striding into the bathroom with a change of clothes and his kit of toiletries. 

The water pressure is terrible, and Dean shakes his head in disappointment as he waits for the pathetic trickle to warm up to his liking. His thoughts wander as he scrubs the desert grime out of his hair, just running through everything they were told today, things Jack and Sam found out, Cas squinting into the sun under his hat like an old school cowboy. How he only wears the hat because he knows it'll make Dean happy, and how he found a cowboy themed diner with homemade pie because he knew Dean would enjoy it. Cas is always doing little things like that, to please Dean, and he smiles as he dries off and slips into a pair of boxers and a battered grey t-shirt. 

A cloud of steam follows him back into the motel room, and Cas doesn't turn to look at him when he speaks. "I found that show you like, the obstacle course with swords."

"_Knife or Death?_ Awesome." He gets comfortable with his back against the headboard. "You can take the hat off now, we're indoors." Cas obliges easily, letting it drop onto the table where he sits, and Dean frowns to himself a little. "Do you even like the hat?"

"It is useful for keeping the sun off your face, especially in this climate."

"Yeah, but do you _like _it?"

Cas turns to him, a confused look on his face. "I don't..._dis_like it?"

"So why do you wear it?"

"Because you asked me to."

"Right." Dean looks away, feeling slightly ashamed. How many things does Cas go along with just for Dean's benefit? "You know, if you want to get cleaned up the old-fashioned way, I left some soap and shampoo in the shower. I've got some stuff you can change into, get more comfortable."

Cas turns the remote over in his hands a few times, considering. "That...does sound pleasant. Thank you."

"Anytime," he says, trading the remote for a soft pair of pajama pants and a plain white tee after Cas peels off his trench coat and suit jacket, toeing off his shoes before he enters the bathroom. Dean flips through the channels while he waits, thoughts suddenly preoccupied with the thought of Cas in the very next room, without his usual layers of clothing. Cas, naked. Cas, naked and _wet_. 

He breathes in through his nose and lets it out in a long exhale, once, twice, three times, willing himself to think of other things. By the time Cas pads out of the bathroom, towel drying his hair, Dean has control of himself again. 

"Come sit here, it's more comfortable," he says, patting the empty side of the bed. "Let's find something else to watch. Tell me what catches your eye."

"Were you not enjoying your other show?"

"Yeah, but," he holds his breath as Cas stretches out on the bed next to him, fascinated by the sight of the angel's bare feet, "um, I thought we could watch something _you_ enjoy."

Cas sits stiffly, back against the headboard, legs rigid, hands clasped together in his lap. He doesn't move so much as his head, and his tone is as wooden as his posture. "I don't know what I would enjoy." Neither does Dean, and for the first time it occurs to him to be ashamed of this. Cas is his best friend, has been by his side for a decade, and he's changed drastically from the stoic angel that doesn't understand humanity -- but has he ever had the chance to discover things for himself? Things that aren't pushed on him by Dean, encouraging Cas to do what _he _wants, to like what _he_ likes, the way you do when you start dating someone and you want them to love all the same things as you so that you can spend all your time together and...

Dean clears his throat, gesturing to the TV with the remote. "Don't you think it's time we find out?" 

Cas finally turns his head then, squinting at Dean in that way that always makes him feel warm inside, like he's trying to see inside Dean to see what makes him tick. Not for the first time, Dean’s glad reading his mind is off limits. It would be convenient, certainly, if he actually wanted Cas to know the myriad of confused feelings that are bouncing around inside him all the time. If he thought Cas would react favorably. If Dean thought he was good enough. 

But Cas won't and Dean doesn't, so he changes the channel, and Cas turns his gaze to the screen. "How will I know? If it's something I will like?"

"This is the fine art of channel surfing. I'll pause on each channel for a few seconds. If you don't seem interested, I'll change to the next one and we'll start again. Tell me when you want me to stop on something. Ready?" 

Cas nods solemnly, and Dean counts to ten in his head before he presses the channel button, and then to ten again, and then again and again. Cas watches the screen with fierce concentration, leaning forward slightly, but Dean just watches him, studying the planes of his face each time something new comes on.

"Wait," he says, and his eyes light up with interest. Dean glances at the television, then back at Cas, then back to the television.

"Judge Judy? Really?" A flicker of disappointment crosses Cas's face, and Dean would have missed it if he hadn't seen it there so many times. It's quickly replaced with a firmly set jaw and a look of stubborn derision. 

"I don't think you're in any position to pass judgement on what someone else likes, Dean."

"Right, yeah, I mean, there's nothing wrong with it. I was just surprised. What's interesting about it?"

"The interpretation of your human laws is really quite fascinating, as well as the way that so many people try to circumvent them. It's very useful for the study of human behavior, in that respect."

"Huh." Dean watches the scene before them unfold, trying to see it through the angel's eyes. "You're right. I never looked at it that way before." He imagines there are many things he hasn't bothered to look at from Cas's perspective, and he wants to do better with that. He wants to be better than that. 

"I also enjoy the judge's attitude very much," Cas admits with a smirk, and Dean laughs.

They watch for a while, and eventually Dean passes the remote over to Cas to let him click through the channels on his own. 

"I'm gonna try and get some sleep, but you go ahead and keep watching something. It won't bother me."

"Of course, I'll just move to the chair."

"No," Dean says quickly, and Cas pauses with one leg off the bed. "There's plenty of room, and it's more comfortable here, you're welcome to stay where you are if you want." He turns on his side, back to Cas, arranging his pillow and trying to act like this is no big deal, like it's totally normal for Dean to be okay with Cas sitting beside him on the bed while he sleeps.

"Alright," Cas says, and Dean sinks into the mattress with a sigh, feeling Cas shift behind him as he resumes his position. He closes his eyes, letting the sound of the program wash over him like white noise, feeling the warmth behind him of another body in the bed. He tries to imagine what it would be like for Cas to put down the remote, sliding his body further down the mattress and curling behind Dean like he's the companion piece of a joined set, linking their hands together against Dean's stomach as he breathes softly on the back of his neck. 

So imagining, he drifts into sleep.

*******

He wakes in the morning to see Cas back in his regular uniform complete with trenchcoat, sitting in the chair at the tiny table, chin resting on his fist as he gazes out the window into the parking lot. There's a paper coffee cup with a lid sitting in front of him, a tiny thread of steam trickling out of the vent hole in the plastic, escaping only to dissipate into the air along with all of Dean's domestic fantasies from the night before. He clears his throat, rubbing at his eyes as he sits up, trying to brush off the disappointment. 

"Sam came by this morning but you were sleeping so deeply I asked him to leave you be," Cas says, giving him an apologetic look. "He took the keys, said there was something he and Jack had to look into. Left this for you." He holds out the cup, and Dean is careful not to let their fingers brush together as he takes it. 

"Thanks," he says gruffly. "What time is it?" 

"Almost nine," Cas says, and Dean's glad he hasn't taken a sip yet or he would have spit it out. He can't remember the last time he slept so much without being sick. Or chasing a djinn. Or some other supernatural reason. He doesn't remark on this out loud.

"Did he say when they'd be back?"

"Late this morning, he thought. Said he'd text us."

"Can't believe he's still chasing leads as if he didn't convince me yesterday this was nothing," Dean says, taking his first grateful sip of the coffee just as the message alert on his phone pings. He groans and ignores it, only for Cas's phone to ping a second later. "Come on, leave it until I've finished my coffee," Dean whines, but Cas ignores him and dutifully checks the screen. 

"He says he's on his way to get us, that he has new information."

"Ugh, fine." He kicks off the sheet, swinging his legs off the mattress. "I can get dressed and drink coffee at the same time." duffel bag in one hand and drink in the other, he saunters into the bathroom and kicks the door shut behind him, leaning back against it to take a long, deep breath. He opens his bag and stares for a few minutes at the clothes he'd lent Cas the night before, neatly folded and replaced in the bag, now seeming out of place with the rest of the contents. He pulls out the plain white undershirt, crumpling it in his hands, pretending he can still feel the warmth of the body that wore it last. There's nothing special about it. Just a utilitarian piece of clothing like its hundreds of identical siblings, packaged in bulk and wrapped in plastic. 

He buries his face in the material and breathes deep, but the only lingering scent is his own, thanks to the soap and shampoo Cas had used before he put it on. 

"Dean? They're here."

"I'll be out in a minute!" he calls back, changing quickly into his street clothes, tossing his own sleepwear haphazardly into the duffel bag. The white undershirt -- once nondescript, but now individualized by the misshapen v-neck and the tear in the armpit and the fact that it's been worn by an angel of the Lord -- is folded gently, and placed reverently back into the bag before he heads back into the room, then follows Cas out to the Impala. Jack takes one look in his direction before he scrambles into the backseat, Cas getting in next to him, and Dean glares at his brother until he scoots over into the passenger seat so Dean can get behind the wheel.

"Dean, we..."

"No," he says, pointing at Sam with the hand that's still holding his coffee. "You can tell me while we eat. There's a Starving Cowboy Breakfast with my name on it."

Dean drives in silence, sipping at his coffee until they reach the same diner they'd been to the day before, and he grins to himself when Sam groans. There's a bit of a skip in his step as he leads the way inside, slipping into the first available booth and giving the closest waitress a big smile.

"Last night two more farms reported animal attacks," Sam says after their food arrives and their waitress busies herself doing something on the other side of the room. "Jack picked them up on the police scanner while I was sleeping. We went to check them out this morning, and I was able to view the actual scene before the animals were removed. Both of them were in the same condition."

"Exsanguinated, with their throats ripped out," Jack says happily, his face gleaming with excitement.

"But also," Sam taps the screen of his tablet a few times before turning it around to show them a picture, "with three distinct puncture wounds in the chest of each." 

"Shit," Dean says around a mouthful of egg. "It is a goddamn chupacabra."

"Looks like. We didn't see any of the other animals attacks first hand, and all the pictures anyone had taken of the scenes were very rudimentary, more for insurance purposes than anything else. No one had examined the bodies very closely beyond the ripped out throats." Cas looks sideways at Dean, who looks at his plate. "What?"

Cas sighs. "We found another animal yesterday that had been attacked, a goat. We, uh, didn't examine it very closely either." 

"Dean," Sam says with exasperation.

"Dude, it had been out in the sun _all day_."

Sam rolls his eyes. "The good news is it seems to be staying in this general area, and we have a record of all the attack locations. We should go back to the hotel and plot them out so we can determine which direction it's moving in. It shouldn't be too hard to figure out which farms would be next along its route, and we can stake them out tonight."

"This is a great plan, Sam. I think it would be very beneficial for you to teach Jack how to do this. We'll drop you both off back at the hotel, and then Cas and I will run out to get supplies."

"What kind of supplies?" Jack asks eagerly.

"Yeah, Dean, what kind of supplies?" Sam gives him a knowing look. 

"Supplies?" Cas echoes, and Dean pinches his thigh beneath the table.

*******

Several hours later, Dean and Cas get back to the motel loaded down with bags of merchandise from the gift shop in the UFO museum. "This is not what I had in mind when you said supplies," Cas says wryly as they empty bags out of the trunk of the Impala, but Dean just grins at him. Sam looks flabbergasted.

"What the hell, Dean?"

"Hey, some of this stuff will be really useful!" He searches through the bags until he finds the one he wants, reaching in to pull out a lime green object, a hardhat with a light on the front. "It's an alien hunter hat! We can wear them tonight when we stakeout the chupacabra." He turns the light on and puts it on his head, holding his hands out and wiggling his fingers. "See? Hands free for weapons!"

Sam communicates with Cas with only a look.

_Why didn't you stop him?_

Cas holds out his hands in frustration as he answers with a look of his own.

_Since when has your brother ever listened to anyone? _

Sam shakes his head as Dean continues rifling through the bags. "There's this, too, it's a bottle opener shaped like an alien head! That's bound to be useful. Oh, Jack, we got some stuff for you."

"For me?" His face lights up, and Sam's softens a bit. Dean puts a pair of sunglasses on Jack that are shaped like alien eyes, bright green like the hat, and hands him a little figurine. "Oh, it's bendable!" He happily sits on the bed, bending the alien this way and that, and even Cas has to smile. 

"I got us all shirts, too." He flops onto the bed with the bags, putting his hands behind his head. "So, what'd you put together while we were gone?"

"You mean how much work did we do while you were goofing off?" Sam raises an eyebrow -- _Can you believe him? _\-- and Cas just holds his arms out helplessly again in a _What do you expect me to do?_

"We plotted all the attacks out on a map!" Jack says, laying it out on the small table. "The first known attack was here," he uses his little alien figure to point to an X, indicating one of the farms, "and it seems to be moving north and south, about 10 miles out from the perimeter of the wildlife refuge."

"It's hit every farm here at least once, but some have been attacked twice now. It looks as though it started from the north end and worked its way down to here.” He points out the Patterson farm that Cas and Dean had first gone to. "They lost a sheep two weeks ago, another a few days back, and then you found a goat yesterday. Last night their two nearest neighbors got attacked again. Since it seems to be moving in a deliberate pattern, our best bet is to stake out the next two farms along this route."

"Have we narrowed down a time for the attacks?" Cas is peering down at the map with his hands on his hips with that concentrated squint on his face that does things to Dean, and he has to take a step back. 

"Time, yes. Narrow, no. The best we could do is somewhere between ten p.m. and five in the morning."

"Great. Middle of the night stakeout. My favorite." Cas turns that squint towards him, and Dean has to look away, clearing his throat. "Let's go eat and try and get some shut-eye. We'll head out to both properties once it starts to get dark, just so we don't miss anything. We should probably stay paired off as we have been, since Cas and Jack don't need as much sleep. They can keep us on point."

Jack and Cas both nod thoughtfully. 

"Right," Sam says, drawing it out like he's about to call bullshit, but Dean glances at Jack and gives Sam a pointed look. "Let's go eat."

"Are we going to the cowboy place again?" Jack asks, and Dean stops himself before he answers in the affirmative. He glances at Cas in the backseat as he gets behind the wheel, at the disinterested way he's looking out the window, just waiting to be driven wherever Dean wants to go. 

"Actually, I thought I'd let Cas pick." The angel turns to the front in surprise, and Dean drops his gaze from the mirror. "You were researching places nearby when you found that diner, so I figure there's probably something that piqued your interest."

"Well, um, actually...there was a place that does specialty burgers?"

Dean smiles, putting the car in reverse and twisting in his seat to back out of the space. "Just tell me where to go," he says, winking at Cas before he turns his eyes forward again, but a quick glance in the mirror shows a soft smile on Cas's face that warms Dean from within.

*******

"My god," Dean says around a mouthful of a breakfast burger, egg yolk dribbling down one side of his chin. "Who knew pecan smoked bacon was even a thing?"

"This has to be the least healthy salad I have ever eaten," Sam muses without actually sounding mad. "The bacon really is amazing."

"I'm amazed you didn't order the Angry Hippie."

"What's a hippie?" Jack asks before he stuffs three more garlic fries in his mouth. 

"Basically Sam."

"Would you stop?"

"Cas, how's the molecules?" 

"These are certainly much more pleasurable molecules than most." Cas had looked directly at the waiter and announced "I'll take the Big Boy," and Dean had nearly knocked on the underside of the table with a very inappropriate erection. He's calmed down considerably, but watching those lips form the word _pleasurable_ makes him tingle a bit. 

"This is awesome," Jack says happily. "Thanks for letting Cas pick this place, Dean!"

"Yeah," Sam says slowly, glancing at Cas wholly absorbed with his food, then moving his eyes to Dean. "That was very nice of you." He raises his eyebrows, the question mark that his inflection lacked, and Dean pointedly ignores him, focusing on burger consumption as if it were a competitive sport. Instead he waits until the waitress is out of earshot and starts telling Jack in hushed tones about all the chupacabra hunts they've been on before, relishing the wide-eyed wonder on his face as he listens raptly. 

It's not until Dean's consumed two pieces of pie, plus whatever was left on Cas's plate, that they're ready to head back to the hotel. Sam excuses himself to the bathroom as Dean waits in line to pay and Cas and Jack head out to the car, and is still waiting by the time Sam gets out. He doesn't pass Dean on his way out the door, instead choosing to linger beside him with his hands in his pockets, smirking.

"Whatever you're gonna say, say it." He expects Sam to demur, draw out his agony, but the line moves up so he blurts it out as though pressed for time.

"I just like this thoughtful, considerate side you're displaying today," Sam says, rocking on the balls of his feet and grinning like a fool. "You should ask Cas what else he'd like to do, I bet he's got a long list of things he's dying to try."

"Jesus, Sam, he's got a mind of his own, he can do whatever he wants." 

"Sure, unless you're around, and then he's just going to follow your lead and do whatever you want to do."

"He's not a _dog_, Sam," Dean says defensively as he finally gets to the register, even though Sam's words strike the same chord he felt the night before. "I don't force him to do things."

"Force? No, of course not," Sam muses. "Even you couldn't get Cas to do something he really doesn't want to."

"So what the hell are you getting at?" Dean takes his change and leaves their waitress a hefty tip, Sam shadowing him back to the table and then towards the door. 

"Hey," Sam says, putting a hand on his arm once they're out on the sidewalk. "I'm just saying it's nice to see you reciprocate, is all. It's kind of an open secret that your relationship with Cas is pretty one-sided."

"You make it sound like I take advantage of him all the time."

"I don't think you set out to do that intentionally. I don't think there's a malicious bone in your body where Cas is concerned. It's just..." Sam pauses, hands still in his pockets, glancing down the street to where Cas and Jack are talking animatedly next to the Impala. "The dynamic has always been a little skewed with you two, is all. He's always been so eager to please, to prove himself to you, to show that he's not like the other angels."

"Of course he's not, I know he's not." 

"Yeah," Sam nods. "I don't think he knows that, though, no matter how many times we tell him he's one of us."

"Where is all this coming from?"

Sam looks at him levelly. "When I came to your room this morning, Cas answered the door in your clothes. He was very quick to tell me that you'd only loaned them so he'd be more comfortable, and that he'd simply watched TV all night. Almost like he was afraid I'd get the wrong impression."

"Yeah, well." It doesn't hurt to hear. He already knows it's not something Cas thinks about. So it doesn't feel at all like there's a knife twisting in his gut. Nope. "He's still an angel, can't have you getting the wrong impression or anything, thinking he was doing inappropriate things with a mud monkey." It's probably gas, this sharp pain. 

"You know, it's only at times like this that I think you may be as dumb as you always pretend to be." Sam walks away, rapidly looking both ways and crossing the street, leaving Dean dumbfounded on the sidewalk for a moment before he follows suit. 

No one speaks on the way back to the motel, but only the silence from Sam causes any discomfort. Dean's barely put the car in park before Sam is out the door.

"Get as much shut-eye as you can, we'll meet back here at 9:30," is all he says before stalking in the direction of his room with Jack loping along behind him.

"Is Sam okay?" Cas asks, perplexed as he watches him leave.

"He'll be fine once he digests. Come on. You can channel surf while I try and get a few hours in."

Cas's face brightens even though his expression doesn't change. Maybe no one would catch it but Dean, who long ago memorized all the planes of his face, every crinkle around his eyes, every subtle nuance of his lips. He flops onto the bed and stretches out as Cas grabs the remote, but stops him before he can sit in the chair.

"Take some layers off and come sit up here where it's comfy," Dean says, then corrects as he hears himself. "I mean lose the trench coat and jacket. If you want."

"Oh." He does so, then bends over to untie his shoes without being prompted and slips them off as well. Once he gets situated with his back to the headboard he turns on the TV, and Dean closes his eyes, listening to the susurration of channels being changed one after another, until Cas finally settles on something that Dean recognizes by sound alone. 

"Is that _Law and Order_?" he murmurs. 

"Yes. I watched many episodes of this when I first decided to become a hunter. I wanted to learn how to act more like you and Sam."

Dean turns on his side, opening his eyes to Cas's profile, his eyes glued to the screen where Jerry Orbach is making some sassy comment. "Did you ever think about just acting like yourself?"

"My self isn't very compelling," Cas says with a hint of regret, and he twists his fingers together in his lap. "Not like you are. People want to talk to you, they want to tell you things."

"That's part of the whole charade, Cas. I have to lie to them to get what I need. That's nothing to admire."

"Yes, it is. It's how you find out what you need to know to help people, even if they don't know it." Cas smiles softly, and Dean clenches his hand into a fist before it can reach up to stroke those lips. "It's not just your persona that they're drawn to, either. They want you to like them. They _want_ you." He trails off, looking away from Dean. "I always wanted to know what that felt like." Cas shakes his head, and Dean sees him draw the stoic mask back over his face as he resumes watching TV. "You should get some sleep."

"Don't change the subject." The realization that Cas has to school his features like that fills Dean with shame. Cas should be able to relax around his family, around Dean. There shouldn't be any need for him to put on a brave face so no one can see what he's really feeling. "What is it you don't want me to see?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." 

Dean does reach out this time, laying his hand on Cas's thigh, feeling the muscles tense up as though he doesn't want to be touched. Dean pulls back as if burned, rolling off the bed and standing to lean his hands on the small table, staring out the window into the parking lot. Behind him, Cas says nothing. 

"You know, don’t you?" He hangs his head, lets out a huff of air, pressing his palms against the table as hard as he can, wishing he could leave his embarrassment pressed into it when he pulls away. "That's why you're always so nice to me, so willing to go along with whatever I want to do. Because it's all you can give me."

"Dean, I..."

"No. Don't." He pushes himself upright and moves his hands to his hips, the way he does when he's faced with doing something he'd rather not, even when he knows he has to. "I always wonder why you never let your guard down, never let yourself relax. You should be able to, around your family. Around your buddy." He hates the sound of that word when it comes out, practically spits it, but he can't use the one he wants, because it's not true. It never will be. "It's like you're always afraid a line is going to be crossed."

"I'm not, Dean what are you..."

"I'm going for a drive."

"What? No, you should, you need to sleep or..."

The door slamming behind him cuts off whatever else Cas was going to say, and Dean is pulling out of the parking lot before Cas can even get the motel door back open to watch him drive away.

*******

** __ ** _I always wanted to know what that felt like._

There's only one reason for Cas to wonder what it feels like to want Dean the way others do. Because he doesn't. Because he can't. But he probably wishes he could, for Dean's sake. So he goes along with everything else he can give to him, because he knows he can't reciprocate with what Dean wants. What he stupidly thought he'd been managing to hide all this time, all these years, biting back a thousand urges to touch, to caress, to hold. Relegating his affection to shoulder squeezes and the occasional hug with a manly pat on the back as a chaser. 

He was stupid to think he was fooling Cas, when he knows he hasn't fooled Sam. Or Jody. Or either version of Charlie and Bobby. Hell, he expects Jack to start teasing him about it eventually. 

Yet Cas has never teased him about it, never called him on it. Just uncomfortably bore it while going along with all the stupid domestic shit that Dean drags him into, like movie marathons and grocery shopping and visiting corny museums. Probably feeling guilty that this is all he can give Dean, because he's just not capable of doing more. Always dreading that Dean is going to ask for more so he keeps himself at the ready, always, in his armor of suit and shoes and trench coat. Making sure to reassure Sam that Dean hadn't crossed a line when he answered the door in sleep pants and an old t-shirt.

He knows he needs to get over it, needs to stop wishing for something he can't have, needs to stop looking at Cas in ways that are sexual or even romantic. He just doesn't know how. Years of random hookups have done nothing to make it fade, and he can't stomach the thought of doing that for the rest of his life, tiptoeing out of a strange room in the middle of the night and coming home to an empty bed when the one he wants to crawl into is right down the hall. Going away for a time will do nothing to ease the longing, or one or another of Cas's prolonged absences would have severed it already.

The only thing he hasn't tried is probably the only thing that will actually work: tell Cas the truth, and let himself be rejected. Maybe that's why hearts have to be broken -- so that all the things you can't let go of slip out through the cracks.

He drives until he has to stop and get gas, and then he drives some more. They need to get through this case and get back to the bunker, and then he'll have to confess. He thinks he might go away for a while, afterwards; take to the open road, let it harden him back up. Remind him that his life is meant to be one of solitude.

But right now the road is helping him to act like a chicken.

This is what Sam's been getting at all the time, about taking Cas's feelings into consideration more. Sam's probably acutely aware of how uncomfortable his good friend is with the unrequited affection he's getting from his brother, and he just wants them all to get to a place where everyone can feel at home. Cas has always gone out of his way to accommodate Dean, probably far beyond his comfort zone, and it's not fair. If he cares about Cas at all, he needs to care less. Or something. 

He feels very tired, and he knows that it's going to bite him in the ass tonight during the stakeout, but he can't bring himself to go back to the motel. He pulls off somewhere that looks secluded and opens his phone, ignoring the five waiting text messages to set an alarm, and then stretches out on the bench seat to take a nap until he has to show up in the parking lot. It feels like he's just closed his eyes when the alarm goes off, and he groans as he fumbles to turn it off. He sighs, rubbing his eyes, and the when the phone dings with a sixth text message he finally reads them.

_I'm sorry_

_ I shouldn't have said that, about wanting to be wanted_

_ I know you don't want me like that, I don't expect you to_

_ I wish I could take it back_

_ I know you don't feel the same, can we just forget this happened_

_ I'm sorry_

He bolts upright, banging his knee on the steering wheel, rubbing it absentmindedly as he scrolls back up to read the texts again.

_I know you don't want me_

Maybe Cas typed that wrong. English isn't his first language, after all. He must be confusing the syntax or...something languagey.

_I know you don't want me_

Dean makes a sharp u-turn, apologizing to Baby as he kicks gravel up into wheel wells, and speeds back to the motel.

*******

Sam and Jack are knocking on the door of his room as he pulls into the lot, and he curses under his breath. 

"Where the hell did you go?" Sam asks as he gets in on the passenger side, and Dean grips the steering wheel hard, unable to look at Cas as he slides into the backseat with Jack. "Let's get going." 

Dean holds his breath as he puts the car in reverse, turning to look out the back window as he pulls out of the space, but Cas is staring at his hands and doesn't even glance up. The air feels tense on the drive to the first farm, but Sam doesn't seem to notice as he directs Dean into the lane where he and Jack are going to do their stakeout. It gets impossibly thicker when they get out of the car and move around to the trunk, especially when Cas makes no move to get into the now empty passenger seat. 

"This is great, Dean!" Jack says, blinding him with the light from his miner's hat as he leans in the window with a grin, giving a thumbs up. 

"Keep in touch, okay?" Sam says before gesturing for Jack to follow him. 

Dean waits a beat or two, but Cas doesn't move and doesn't speak, so Dean makes a three point turn and heads to their destination in awkward silence. It takes twenty minutes to get where they need to go, and Dean finds a lane that takes them close enough to the sheep paddock that they can watch from the car. 

Cas barely acknowledges him once they've parked, and he still doesn't move. Dean turns off the engine, the ticking sound as it cools ominous in the terrible silence between them. He opens his mouth a few times, only to close it when he realizes this isn't the time, that they have to get through this hunt before they have The Talk. It shouldn't be too hard. Talking was never his strong suit anyway. 

He breaks in ten minutes.

"Cas, can we..."

"I don't think that's a good idea right now." He doesn't sound angry, the way Dean is expecting. Resigned, maybe. Sad. Like he expects a specific outcome to this conversation, and wants to avoid the confirmation of that belief for as long as possible. 

"Why are you still in the back seat?" Cas says nothing, and Dean sighs. "You can't see from back there, man, come on. If we're gonna do this stakeout you need to get up here where you can see."

Cas hangs his head, then slowly opens the door to get out and transfer up to the front. The overhead light deepens the shadows on his face before he shuts the door behind him, and Dean hates what he sees there. Resolve. Sadness. Regret.

They both stare out the windshield of the Impala, but Dean's concentration is not on the landscape before his eyes. He's always been aware of Cas's proximity to him whenever they've been alone together, but now his senses feel heightened. The hours roll by as the night grows ever darker, and Dean notices every vague movement in the landscape before them, hears every rustle of the wind, every animal sighing in its sleep. 

Every hour or so Dean's phone vibrates on the dash as Sam checks in, and he answers dutifully until about three a.m., when he ignores it. For the first time all night Cas turns to look at him.

"Are you going to answer that?"

"You said you know I don't want you." The words tumble over themselves in a rush to leave his mouth, completely shoving his original response to the side as they barrel past in their eagerness. 

"Dean, this isn't..."

In for a penny, in for a pound. "I should probably be proud of that." Cas turns to look out the side window, deliberately turning away. "I mean, I work so hard at it. Keeping my hands to myself. Keeping my impulses under control."

"I don't know what you..."

"Like right now. Whenever you're in the passenger seat I have this compulsion to reach over and put my hand on your leg. Just a natural inclination to reach out and touch. Or you'll already have your hand on your leg like you do now, and then I think about what it would be like to reach over and put mine over yours. Slip it underneath your palm, let our fingers intertwine."

Those hands tense ever so slightly, the tightening of the skin around the knuckles nearly imperceptible; but Dean has spent years studying Cas in the way that stargazers study constellations, mapping out the tiniest of movements to discern their effect on the whole. He lets his own hand crawl slowly across the gap between them -- two feet, twenty inches, fifteen inches, nine -- until he's close enough to reach out with his index finger and brush the length of Cas's pinky.

Cas doesn't turn to look at him, but Dean hears the ragged intake of breath, notices the way the left hand relaxes. He slides his fingertips underneath that hand, turning them to curl into Cas's palm and move in the softest hint of a caress along the life line, the heart line, the line of fate. He tickles the sensitive skin on the underside of the wrist, then moves to the other side before letting his fingers spread out over Cas's, gently flattening them out before letting his own slide between.

For a moment, neither of them breathe.

Then Cas curls his fingers, catching Dean's for a moment before he pulls his hand away. 

"I'm sorry, it's just," he twines his own fingers together, clenches his hands together in his lap. "I've seen you act on impulse before, and I can't..." He's got the door open and is out of the car before Dean can reach out to stop him. Cas is twenty feet away before Dean is even out of the car but he doesn't go much farther, and by the time Dean catches up he's just standing with his arms crossed and staring at his feet.

"Cas?" He stays a few inches back, itching to reach out and touch again but not wanting to spook him. "I'm sorry, okay? When you said you knew I didn't want you, I thought, well I thought you _wanted _me to. To want you." Cas is shaking his head, and every far-fetched hope Dean has ever harbored falls to his feet and shatters on the hard-packed ground. He sighs and puts his hands on his hips, shuffling his boot into the dirt. "I sound like I'm quoting Cheap Trick. Although," he says thoughtfully, staring off into the distance, "it's not like that would be totally off base. All in all it's pretty apt." 

Cas turns to him with a glare. "Can you not trivialize what's happening into song lyrics right now?"

"Sorry, sorry. I'm just trying to process the rejection."

"Yes, well, I realize you've probably never been turned down before and that's a huge blow to your ego but I don't want to be just another notch in your belt."

"My...it's bedpost, Cas, another notch in the _bedpost_, did you get that from Sam?" Cas just turns away, walking further from the car into the brush at the edge of the desert landscape, and Dean starts wondering if fratricide is going to be on the list of things he needs to do tomorrow. 

"That seems to be the correct turn of phrase for someone who's only interested in conquest. I don't need Sam to tell me that."

"Conquest." The word is heavy on his tongue, preventing any argument he might have made, because why shouldn't Cas believe that's what's happening here? It's all he's ever known from Dean, a life of carefully crafted detachment surrounded by a smokescreen of boozy bars and casual hookups, all of it meant to disguise something he can't bring himself to show. 

"Right. I just...it's clear that I read this whole situation wrong, and we can go ahead and pretend it never happened." He turns to walk back to the Impala, feeling like every walk of shame he's ever taken in his life pales in comparison to this moment.

"It wouldn't have worked."

"What do you mean?" He walks in front of Cas now, trying to catch his eyes. 

"I know what a pity fuck is, Dean."

"Hang on, hang on. I think we're both a little confused, here." Cas rolls his eyes, but Dean puts up a hand to stall whatever he's about to say. "Just give me a second, okay?" Cas clenches his jaw, then nods in assent, though he still doesn't look at Dean. "Can you tell me, in the simplest possible terms, what just happened in the car."

Air exhales from Cas's nostrils as harshly as a bull preparing to gore a matador, and Dean wonders if Cas still has enough power to smite the single human being who has pissed him off beyond his breaking point today. 

"I said I always wanted to know what it felt like to be wanted. So you're trying to give me that experience, because you think no one else will, even though I'm not your type."

"What type is that?"

"Experienced. Casual. _Female_." He blinks, turning his head away. "I'm sure you meant well, but...that's not what I want."

"What _do_ you want?" Dean whispers, taking a step closer. "Whatever you want Cas, let me give it to you."

"You can't."

"Cas, come on, just..."

"Cheap Trick." He spits the words out and takes a step back as he says it, but Dean follows without thinking, taking two steps for Cas's one.

"You want me to want you?" Cas inhales sharply, nodding just once, and Dean takes another step. "You need me to need you." Another nod, another step, and Dean is close enough to grasp the lapel the trench coat. "You'd love me to love you?" Cas nods again before he finally looks up, and his eyes are full of stars. 

"I'm sorry, I..." Dean swallows the apology on his lips with his own, reeling him in by his coat, pulling them together like they were always meant to be. Cas takes a shocked breath, taking air from Dean's mouth into his lungs before he returns the kiss with equal fervor. What he lacks in technique he makes up for with intent, and it only takes a few minutes before Dean is breathing hard and has to come up for air, pulling Cas away with the hands that have found their way into his hair. 

"Goddamn," Dean says when he can breathe again, leaning their foreheads together. "I should have done that years ago."

Cas gently pushes him a few inches away until they're no longer touching. "We shouldn't have done that now." 

"Why? Cas, I want you. I've wanted you for a long, _long_ time." 

"You could have anyone, Dean. Anyone would be thrilled to spend a night like that with you, but I want more than that, don't you see? Not just one night, but the morning, too, and the night after that, and a year from now, five years, and all the days in between." 

They regard each other in the low light of the starry sky, and when Cas drops his gaze Dean steps back into his space to cup his face with both hands, tilting his face up again.

"Those nights have always been yours. I just didn't know you wanted them." He moves carefully this time, deliberately, telegraphing his intent before he brushes their lips together. Just a caress with his lower lip, skin over skin, breathing together for a few moments before he applies more pressure, pulling Cas's lower lip between both of his own. Cas places a hand on one of Dean's hips, his touch hesitant at first, then surer of itself and its place there before moving to his lower back, pulling him closer.

Cas growls low in his throat, and Dean pulls away. "Fuck, don't do that unless you want me to get you naked right here."

"Do what?" Cas says, leaning in to nibble at his throat. "Tell me so I can do it again."

"Make that growling sound."

"What sound?"

It comes again, and this time it's apparent that the sound is coming from _behind _Cas, and Dean looks over his shoulder right into the red, rabid eyes of the chupacabra. Cas freezes for a moment, the realization coming over him that they are not alone out here. He moves one hand to grip the gun tucked into the back of Dean's pants, pulling it out slowly as he meets Dean's gaze, and this is probably the wrong moment for him to find that sexy but it happens nonetheless. 

Everything after that happens too quickly. Cas spins away from Dean just as the beast leaps out of its attack crouch, and Dean dives to the side, rolling away in the dirt and pulling his knife at the same time. The chupacabra leaps for him and he rolls to the left, swinging the knife in an arc as he goes, feeling it connect briefly. Cas fires a shot and the creature hisses, and Dean tries to get to his feet as it leaps toward him again but he misjudges the terrain, stumbling over before he's even gotten upright. The chupacabra is on him in a flash, and he knows Cas won't shoot if he thinks he'll hit Dean, but he can't get his knife hand free so the chupacabra gets a headbutt that sends it reeling. Another shot rings out as Dean rolls clear and the chupacabra howls before running in the opposite direction.

"Are you okay?" Cas says, helping him to stand and peering at his head. "Your head is bleeding." 

"I hit it right in the teeth," he says, his forehead throbbing as he presses the heel of his hand to it. "Fuck, we gotta text Sam, that thing is heading his way."

Cas already has his phone out and is texting as they trot back to the Impala, and Dean wipes the blood out of his eyes as he gets out of the car, only to yelp when his ass hits the seat.

"What's wrong?" Cas is already slamming the door behind him as Dean gets into the car awkwardly, sitting on his hip.

"Think I landed on a fucking cactus," he mutters as starts the car and peels away in a cloud of dust.

*******

By the time they arrive at the next farm, Sam has already dispatched the chupacabra and is carefully explaining to Jack that they can't put it in the trunk and drive it ten hours back to the bunker for study. 

Dean has invented at least three new curse words.

*******

Sam drives them back to the motel while Dean leans against Cas in the backseat, keeping the tender half of his backside off the leather as much as he can. He doesn't miss the way Sam adjusts the rearview mirror, nor the dozen or so times he glances into it to observe them. Cas carefully helps him out of the car and over to the motel room, and as Dean waits for him to open the door, he sees his brother give them a jaunty salute. 

Dean gives him a salute in return, though he only uses one finger.

*******

Hundreds of naked fantasies about Cas over the years did not prepare Dean Winchester to be clinically stripped naked and laid face down on a motel bed by the angel so he could carefully remove a cactus spine from his ass. Or three.

"I never thought this was the way you would finally see me naked," he mutters into the hollow created by his crossed arms, hiding his face as Cas carefully works.

"I never thought you blushed this far down," Cas replies, and then laughs when Dean's ass reddens further.

"It's not fair that I'm completely vulnerable and you're still wearing your armor." 

Cas just hums as he applies antiseptic to Dean's right ass cheek, then covers it with a bandage before planting a kiss right above it. Dean turns his head to the side when he hears rustling, watching as Cas removes his trench coat, his jacket, then each successive stitch of clothing down to a pair of pedestrian white boxer shorts that are somehow exactly what Dean was expecting even if he was unprepared to find them sexy. Cas stretches out next to him on the bed, leaning in to kiss his forehead.

"Get some sleep. We've got a long drive tomorrow."

Dean groans as he slings one arm over Cas's torso. "We have a lot to talk about when we get home." Cas runs his fingers through Dean's hair but doesn't answer, and Dean opens his eyes. "Unless you're thinking about how to tell me that we made a mistake?"

"That depends," Cas says thoughtfully, and Dean tenses. "Are you actually willing to let me love you? Because that's all I want to do, Dean. It's all I've ever wanted."

Dean looks at his earnest face, open and honest and worried, and leans in carefully to kiss him. "I think you're going to learn that we both want the same thing."

"Good," Cas says breathlessly. "Because I want to examine that ass a lot more when it's healed."

"Cas!" 

"What? Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to touch it? Now you've finally let me because it's bleeding, it's not exactly the fantasy I've been imagining all this time."

"Shut up," Dean mutters, using his tongue to make Cas do just that. 


End file.
